


all that i want (and more)

by your typical rockstar (tamquamm)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, happy kyle dubas day!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:51:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21606838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamquamm/pseuds/your%20typical%20rockstar
Summary: “Were you—” Kyle has to stop, because he chokes off, laughing again. “Were you yelling at the smoke alarm?”He gives Willy a knowing look, amused, like he already knows the answer.“No,” Willy says, defiant, as he watches Kyle cross the kitchen, right to the windows. “What are you doing?” He changes the subject.“Yelling never solves anything,” Kyle says, cryptic, as he starts opening them up. “You have to do what it wants.”
Relationships: Kyle Dubas/William Nylander
Comments: 9
Kudos: 106





	all that i want (and more)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [the toronto purchase](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16841680) by [your typical rockstar (tamquamm)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamquamm/pseuds/your%20typical%20rockstar). 

> So this is technically a timestamp for [in love and war](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1209786) (the geneva contract + the toronto purchase) but it can absolutely 100% be read alone without reading the series!
> 
> -  
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Willy makes sure he wakes up first. 

It’s maybe one stop short of a miracle, but he makes sure he does just for today. It’s not as hard as he thought it would be, not with the way he’d deliberately left the curtains open on the window closest to his side, hopeful that the sun would steadily leak in and wake him up.

It did, and he’s a little pleased with himself, but he’s even more pleased when he carefully looks over and sees Kyle still sound asleep, the rise and fall of his chest steady with his breath. 

He lingers for a second, just a moment. Lets himself observe Kyle at peace, unbothered in his rest. His hair is a mess, more than just bedhead, but Willy likes it like that. Likes that he gets to see him like that.

As quietly and carefully as he can, Will pads out of the bedroom and gently shuts the door behind him. It’s more or less home free from there, because while Kyle isn’t necessarily a heavy sleeper, he’s perpetually behind on sleep. Willy thinks he can let him catch up a little, just today.

No one expects Willy to become a gourmet chef, everyone is more than aware of his lacking in culinary skills, Kyle especially, so he doesn’t try to be something he’s not. But he isn’t totally useless.

It’s easy enough to get the coffee maker going, that much he can definitely do. So he does that first, just to build up his confidence. Besides, the smell of the brew wakes him a little, gets him more about his senses. 

Bacon and eggs are a little harder, but he thinks he has the basics. He doesn’t really know how to make the eggs any way other than scrambled, and he maybe doesn’t realize this until he’s about to crack the eggs into the pan. 

Thinking better of it, he goes back into the fridge and picks out some of the vegetables that Kyle keeps pre-chopped for his new pseudo-meal planning thing. There’s onions and cheese and spinach, and Willy thinks he can work with that.

He’s watched Kyle cook enough to know that the vegetables go first, so he lets them sit in the pan while he very, very, very carefully cracks the eggs into a bowl. He only gets a couple pieces of shell, which he manages to scoop out immediately, so he’d call it a victory.

The pan with the vegetables starts to make increasingly louder noises, so he hurries up with beating the eggs and pours them in before the food starts straight up yelling at him. 

He gets another pan out for the bacon and starts that up while the eggs cook. Look at him, multitasking. Maybe this cooking thing isn’t so bad after all.

Those are famous last words, because it’s not long before Willy’s preoccupied with the coffee maker, which won’t stop chiming, and suddenly there’s a high pitched shrieking beep that nearly startles Willy right out of his skin. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Willy abandons his half-poured coffee and, well. Panics. 

“Shut up,” he yells at the smoke detector, “please shut up.”

He’s seen people do it in movies, so he kills the heat on both pans, grabs the dish towel off the rack, and stars aggressively flapping it in the direction of the smoke detector. “Please be quiet, shut up, shut up,” he continues to plead with it all the while. 

Willy’s not even sure _ why _ the damn thing went off. There wasn’t _ that _ much smoke or whatever the fuck it’s yelling about.

“Will?” And well, fuck. The jig is up. Kyle rounds the corner in nothing but his boxers, right in the middle of pulling a pilling cotton Marlies tee over his head. There’s maybe a “62” on the chest, but Will isn’t focused on that right now. Kyle rubs the sleep from his eyes, blinks into focus. “Are you okay? What’s happening?”

“I, uh,” Willy freezes, looks at Kyle, sheepish. “Breakfast?” He tries.

Kyle, who is still vaguely half asleep, glances from Willy’s face to the stove, then back to Willy and the kitchen towel in his hands.

He can’t help it, he starts laughing, bright and full and, at some point, uncontrollable. Even as the smoke detector continues to go off around them. 

“Hey,” Willy protests, although every tense muscle in his body suddenly relaxes. “It’s not funny, I’m having a crisis.”

“Were you—” Kyle has to stop, because he chokes off, laughing again. Then still catching his breath with a grin, “Were you yelling at the smoke alarm?”

He gives Willy a knowing look, amused, like he already knows the answer. 

“No,” Willy says, defiant, as he watches Kyle cross the kitchen, right to the windows. “What are you doing?” He changes the subject.

“Yelling never solves anything,” Kyle says, cryptic, as he starts opening up the windows. “You have to do what it wants.”

Satisfied with the chilly November draft of air now leaking into the apartment, he moves to the stove. He reaches up to the exhaust hood and taps one of the dials, give Willy a pointed a look. “Now this,” he says, like it’s a big secret. “Is the key to all of this. It sucks up the smoke.” Kyle twists it on and the familiar hum of the fan fills the kitchen in harmony with the smoke alarm. 

The alarm hasn’t stopped yet, but Kyle takes a look at the stovetop and starts the burner with the omelette again. “You were close,” Kyle shrugs, genuinely impressed. He picks up a small piece of bacon from the pan and Will tries not to react at how crispy it is. “I do like my bacon extra well done,” Kyle grins, pops it in his mouth.

As if on cue, the alarm suddenly stops, and Kyle hums, content, as he makes to close the windows again. 

“I wanted to bring it to you in bed,” Willy says once Kyle’s done with the windows. He does manage to salvage this a little, dutifully pours steaming coffee into Kyle’s favorite mug. It’s extra big and it’s blue with a yellow stripe on one side. Willy gave it to him, once upon a time ago. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” Kyle graciously accepts the mug, maybe a little too eagerly. He sighs, pleased, once he gets a good gulp down. 

“I don’t _ have _ to do anything,” Willy rolls his eyes, sliding into his barstool at the island. “I wanted to let you sleep in and have breakfast in bed and relax and shit.”

Kyle shrugs, grins a little while he checks the eggs. Satisfied with them, he hacks it down the middle with the spatula and slides each half to their respective plate. “Well I appreciate the thought,” he says while he loads up the bacon. “Although I think I prefer eating at the island, anyway, so this is good, too.”

“Not as romantic,” Willy huffs, but still makes grabby hands for his plate. Kyle indulges him, slides him his first. “I was going to make the bacon into like, a thirty-four and everything.”

That gets another laugh out of Kyle, one that he clearly tried to keep in. Willy glares at him, but Kyle puts his hands up, shakes his head.

“Here,” Kyle slides him his plate. “You can still do that part.”

It’s not the same, but Willy takes the olive branch and dutifully starts breaking and arranging the bacon accordingly. The omelette takes up half the plate, which poses somewhat of an obstacle, but Willy manages to make it work. The “3” sits atop the eggs while the “4” gets its own half. Satisfied, he admires his handiwork and slides it back to Kyle. 

“Oh Will,” Kyle says in artificial surprise, “this is so sweet, thank you!”

Willy laughs, shoves him in the shoulder a little. “Alright, alright, eat before it gets cold.”

“Wait, wait,” Kyle’s got his phone out, carefully angling it above the plate. Will hears the shutter goes off.

“I’m sending it to Gram,” Kyle explains when he catches Will’s confused look. “She doesn’t need to know you set off the smoke alarm. She’ll think it’s sweet.”

Will hears the little “shwoop” noise when the message is sent. He grins, warmth swelling in his chest. 

“You think so?”

“Yeah, of course,” Kyle grins around his bite of eggs and bacon. 

The sun is just starting to really come in now, long streaks of low golds and earthy reds from the windows lighting Kyle from behind. It highlights the pieces of hair that stick up where they aren’t supposed to, highlighted by the tinge of sunlight. Willy is content to look all he wants, takes his fill.

“What are you looking at?” Kyle finally says as he swallows, amused.

“Hi,” Willy says instead. “Happy birthday, Kyle.”

Kyle leans in then, kisses Willy sweetly on the cheek first, then goes for his lips. Firm and sure, but mostly chaste. Willy blinks at him, dazed, when he pulls away.

“Thank you, Will, this is perfect.” _ You’re perfect, _ he says without saying. Kyle looks at him, then, fond. “I love you.”

Willy grins, feels the words with every inch of his being, feels it curl through him like it’s pumped through his blood. This is the life he’s never imagined but always dreamed of, the moments he’s always kept treasured and close to his heart.

This is their forever, they’re living it, and sometimes Willy still can’t believe it. So yeah, he means it, he’s always does, but maybe it’s also a confirmation, a metaphorical pinch, just to remind himself that yeah, this is real. 

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Kyle Dubas, boy wonder! 🤓💙
> 
> I'm so sorry that this was the tropiest trope of all tropes but it's _my_ first Kyle Dubas birthday where Kyle and Willy are not on separate continents and I'll write tropey fluff if I want to! 😂
> 
> Enjoy Kyle Dubas day, thank you for reading!


End file.
